Puddle Jumpers
by jennii.b
Summary: They may be non-combatants, but the seas' saviors sometimes need something worth fighting for...
1. Chapter 1: Introductions

"I can help!" he yelled over the sound of the rushing water and the roaring and hissing of flame fighting to break free.

She shook her head. "Trust me!" she yelled back. "This is what I do!"

She turned, forging through the dark, creaking opening. She had to crouch, then had to duck further until the way closed. A narrow shaft remained. She felt a tug on her ankle and was offered a piece of cloth.

In the dim glimmer she recognized the face of the man behind her. _He does _not_ give up,_ she thought. She accepted the bandana, though, and waited for him to move beside her.

"Have you heard anybody?" he asked her.

She shook her head. The crunched subway car groaned again. She'd called out several times. "You need to go back. I called in my progress. The team's on the way. But civilians have been cleared out."

"I have emergency training."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm a rescue swimmer," he told her. "Jack Skinner." He offered his hand.

"You're a lifeguard? Man. There's no water here. I think I've got it."

He shook his head.

"Coast Guard. I jump out of helicopters when things go bad on the water, administer immediate aid, and stabilize patients for transfer."

"Well, that's very nice, Jack Skinner. And if someone should happen to slip and fall in the mud we'll let you pull them out. But this is going to take a little bit more than CPR class." She was dismissive. Normally that might piss him off. Now it only amused him.

"You're wasting time," he told her with a disarming smile. "Keep moving."

She turned, fastened the cloth over her face bandit-style to keep out the dust, dirt, and God only knew what. Smoke wasn't an issue. Thus far.

Three cars later she found what she'd been looking for. Together they dragged the body of the conductor back through the wreckage.

Out in the open they both pulled down the white cotton. Grenna gaped openly when her erstwhile partner slung the dead weight of the man over his shoulder and hauled him to the stretchers waiting a safe distance away. He explained the man's condition as they knew it in lingo that bespoke familiarity.

Then he turned back to her. He thought it apropos that a section of wiring exploded in a million glowing lights, haloing her dark good looks.

"Hi. I don't think we've been properly introduced. Let me buy you dinner tomorrow and we'll clear up all misconceptions."

"No can do, cowboy. No fraternizing with patients."

Jack narrowed his eyes and frowned. "You didn't rescue me. I'm not a patient."

She pointed to the next ambulance. "You went in there. You were exposed to smoke, dust, probably three hundred kinds of mold spores, asbestos, and maybe even some leftover mad cow disease. You're going to the hospital, where you will be a patient." She gestured for the EMTs to come toward them.

"But not _your_ patient."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Think of me as a partner. A brother operator."

Now she snorted. "Get on the bus," she told him. Two guys in full turnout gear approached and the EMT tugged at his elbow. He was asking Jack something, but Jack wasn't paying attention. He watched her walk away, accepting the proffered helmet and jacket the firefighter handed over. How many women like that could possibly be on the city's fire department? It wouldn't take much to find her again. He let himself be led to the ambulance where his blood pressure, [], and [] were checked before he signed a waver releasing the city from responsibility for his welfare when he denied them the trip down to the hospital.

The next day he spent damn near two hours on the phone figuring out which branch she worked for. He knew he had the right one when the gruff guy on the other end of the line asked him "And who wants to know?"

So that's where he sent the two dozen pale pink flowers-a dozen roses plus a miscellaneous mix just in case she wasn't a rose girl. The card read "To Smoke Eyes. Just in case you ever slip in a mud puddle," and ended with his number.

He was explaining his strategy to his friends David and Paul the next night at a local bar when she walked in.

Surrounded by a group of men, of course.

Jack, four beers brave by that point and sporting his favorite pool cue, walked right up to her where she'd settled on the carved stool.

"This is fate, you know that, don't you?"

Since she'd seen his face a thousand times the night before, had thought of him twice as often since his flowers arrived, and had taken a good bit of ribbing because of it, she sneered.

"This is called stalking, big boy." She ruined it when she couldn't maintain. Her typically sweet, happy smile showed through. "Your flowers were beautiful. Unnecessary, but nice still."

"It took forever to find out where to send them. They're serious about not mixing company. It was worth it, though."

His pale blue eyes played over her tired face. The eyes had a tilt to them that made the finely chiseled features extraordinary. There were muscles beneath the glitter and low-slung jeans. Grit. There had to be to shoulder what she did for a living.

Grenna's housemates vied for her attention, indicating how lame this guy was.

As if.

This guy was pure muscle. She'd watched him pick up and carry a fully grown, robust man the night before and walk thirty feet with him. No sign of flagging. The white-blonde crew cut wasn't her normal tall-dark-handsome thing. But the tingles were there. When he reached out with his free hand to cover hers where it rested on the bar she felt calluses. The hand was strong, and world-worn, but the backs were pale and the nails were clean. This was no beach-bum lifeguard. Nor was it some weekend warrior or board room jockey.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he offered.

She wrinkled her nose. "I hate to say 'no' to you..."

His brow creased. "You don't have to."

She turned her hand over and squeezed. "I'm not in the market for anything interesting right now. Go back to your game. I'll be over here with my boys."

Her boys hooted and hollered as he winked, squeezed her hand back, and left in the direction he'd come. There was equally raucous yelling when he hit his own group.

The next day when he nearly ran her over with a grocery cart their fates were sealed.

"Jesus Christ!" she spluttered.

"Whoops." This from the youngest member of the party, an eighteen or nineteen-year-old.

"Sorry," Jack told her, coming around from behind his cart. "We thought we had the place to ourselves."

"Are you on duty?" she asked, agape.

He shrugged. "We're on call. On calls buy groceries. So here we are." He and the younger man each pushed carts loaded with goods. Two more guys came chugging around the corner, screeching to a halt.

"Who won?" one of them asked.

"Nobody yet," the little guy told them. "We's nearly ran over this lady. We's still apologizing."

"Wanna come to lunch?" Jack asked her.

She shook her head. "I eat enough feed-the-masses food. But thanks."

She turned her own cart to reverse direction.

Jack abandoned his. "Hey! Wait!" He caught up with her and made a grab for the edge of the basket. "You can't go."

"Why not?"

"Because this is the third time in three days that I've seen you. You girls read books. I know you do. I'm not desperate. Or dense. But I'm not immune, either. And I think you're interested. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want to see me again and I'm gone. Smoke. Otherwise give me a chance. Let me take you out. Buy you dinner. Make you dinner. Whatever."

She pursed her lips.

"Please," he whispered.

That was the sinker. She sighed, rocked the basket, and shifted her feet.

"I'll call you," she promised.

"Really?'

She considered. Then nodded.

"Okay. O-kay." He sighed. "Okay, then. I'll see you 'round."


	2. Chapter 2: Sucky Days

Jack's heart was thumping as he strode into the hospital. His voice, his face, his entire body throbbed with the fear and its accompanying adrenaline by the time he reached the information desk.

"There was an accident-a fire-"

The nurse in emergency receiving shook her head.

Jack had already decided this was a waste of time. He scanned the room, considering his options. "...I need to know if Grenna Pereman was hurt," he finished lamely.

Then he caught sight of two guys in stripped-down gear coming down the hallway. From ICU.

His heartbeat tripped, then tripled, and he moved to intercept them.

"Who was it?" he asked, stopping them short. He didn't know every guy in her house. He knew damn few of them, considering. They certainly didn't know him.

"Come on, dammit! I got off a bird this afternoon and it was all over the news! She's not answering her phone, her car's still in the lot at the station! Is it her or is she here somewhere?"

"Who you lookin' to find, mister?" the younger asked.

Jack bared his teeth. "Grenna-"

"What's it to you?" the other snarled.

Before he could stop himself he reached for the thicker man's throat. Whether to shake him, shock him, bang his head against the wall or choke the living shit out of him none of them would ever know. His odds weren't that good and he found himself shoved up against the concrete wall himself, cheek grating against the rough masonry. It was a life lesson: never take on two firefighters who'd had a bad day when there were cops around.

"What the hell is going on?" one of the city's finest asked.

"This dude wigged out on Jonesy. He was askin' about Grenna and-"

"Jesus! Jack? Jack Skinner?!" The pressure on his arms and back slackened. Thanking the fates and all the gods in all the heavens Jack turned around.

"Help me out, Bower," he begged. "I have to know about my girl."

"Christ, man! This is Grenna's friend, the flower guy. She's upstairs." Jed Bower jerked his head over his shoulder. "Myron Parker is down here." He shook his head. Skinner looked near to tears-frustration, fear, and the rest. "How'd you know to come here?"

Skinner shook his head. "It was all over the news-on all the stations-when we were standing down. I swung by your house and saw her car was still there. So I figured she either rode in on the bus or was on the stretcher. There's nobody there. It's empty. Like everybody just vanished."

Bower nodded. "There'll be somebody at the main branch. Most of us are here. We're still on duty. Called in the volunteers, they'll be at their house." He reached out, slapped the other man's shoulder. "Where you been all day?"

"Damn near to Bermuda. Is she okay?"

"She got hit pretty hard by some debris. She's torn up. Inside, like. Churned up, I guess."

"She lost a partner today," Jack told him, disapproving of the way he seemed to be dismissing Grenna's emotional state.

"We all did," a quiet voice reminded him. There'd been a cop and a fireman killed in the gas station explosion. Injured taken to a local hospital according to the wire services. No names pending notification of families.

"She was lucky," one of the others told him. "She's going to be okay. She won't like it, it'll hurt worse because she'll try to keep it from everybody, but she'll tough it out and be okay."

Jack nodded. "Please," he whispered.

"Come on," Bower told him, gesturing for the other man to follow him.

Grenna wouldn't ever find out that he tried to take on her captain, Jones Rolland, and his massive little brother, Carson Rolland.

She'd just gotten everybody out of her room so that she could be miserable by herself, so that she could wallow in the guilt and sorrow and pain, when the door opened.

She shut her eyes and let her face fall to the side.

Silence from the hallway intrigued her. The door neither opened further nor closed. Then she heard whispering. She couldn't make out the words or the voice.

"It looks bad. It's going to look worse. Hurt for a while. But she's good," Bower warned.

Jack's heart broke. Her pretty face was an angry red. Ugly swelling and bruising marred the entire right side from just above her jaw to her hairline and back toward her ear. A couple of butterfly bandages held together minor lacerations near her right temple. Her right arm was in a sling, the flesh revealed by the hosptial gown too pale, too waxen. At her wrist another series of bruises bloomed to be swallowed by the navy material of the sling. And she was on oxygen, which was scary.

Curiosity won out and Grenna let her eyelids flutter open convincingly.

Her lips trembled when she saw Jack.

He was instantly at her side, reaching over to stroke the uninjured arm.

"Baby-"

She smiled weakly and dug deep to make a play at nonchalant. Reaching up with her left hand she shifted the mask out of the way. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

Her voice was husky, the tissue of her lungs and windpipe still recuperating from the smoke inhalation and searing heat.

"I was so scared," he admitted. "The explosion's on a constant loop. When we got in, when we shut it down, that's what was on. I tried to call you-"

"I'm not sure where my-" she choked, trying not to cough because that hurt, trying to maintain because she didn't want to upset him.

Jack reached for the water on the table, punched the call button for good measure.

"Shh," he told her. "It's okay. You don't have to talk."

The nurse came bustling in. Grenna held up both hands. "It's okay," she choked. "I just need to get my wind back."

Jack brushed at her hair, tucking it behind her ears, fussing with the sweaty bangs on her forehead, as the nurse adjusted the oxygen and humidity controls in the room. Cool and damp. It would be easier to breath if the room was cool and damp.

"Why did you come?" Grenna asked finally, meeting Jack's eyes.

Ceb shrugged. "It's what you do."

"It's okay," Grenna whispered. She barely made audible noise. Jack understood every syllable. "You don't have to. They'll have called my parents, my sisters."

"Should I call anyone else?" he asked. "Got any goldfish I don't know about?"

She shook her head. "You're taking this very well."

Jack snorted. "I'm about to hit my knees. My stomach's cramping. I've never been so afraid, then so relieved, only to feel so bad about it."

She nodded. "Thomas and Derfrew."

Jack pressed his lips together and nodded mournfully.

When he bent to drag the chair closer she frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Settling in."

"Here?"

"Are they moving you?" he asked. It was a semi-private room with two other beds-unoccupied.

She shook her head. "You can't stay."

"Try me," he promised.

She looked away and continued shaking her head. A tear rolled down her cheek and Jack shifted again, resting gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to do this. It's better if you just leave now. Don't be the good guy first. Don't play the martyr while I'm here."

"I'm not following."

"Just go ahead and leave. It'll be fine. I can go ahead and get over you and then I'll be fine. I won't get over this and then lose you."

"What kind of drugs are you on?" Jack asked in exasperation. He automatically reached for the box of tissue as she began coughing again. When she stopped, when he'd gently wiped around her lips and cheeks and the corners of her eyes he rested his plam on her brow, checking for fever.

"Please, Jack."

"I don't know what you want."

"I want you to leave me now, while I'm in here. Don't wait until I get out."

"I'm not going anywhere. Period."

"This is it, baby. This is the relationship killer."

He lifted his eyebrows.

"I've been here before. Guys can't take it. This is when they realize that I'm not giving up my job for them and that I'm not some pretty little fluff piece. Nobody wants to get stuck with some chick who could get barbequed into a lump of melted flesh."

"News flash. I do this, too. I understand. I can adapt. And I'm here. I'm not leaving."


	3. Chapter 3: Silver Linings

Grenna sighed a soft sigh as the littlest Skinner rolled a matchbox monster truck disinterestedly up and down her arm. Even that much air moving past her throat hurt. Jackson IV-Jax as opposed to the way Jackson III shortened his name to Jack-shifted quietly in her lap, turning into her body and rolling the truck over her collar bone. In a move that had become automatic as the day had worn on she felt his tiny forehead, the round cheeks. Warm, almost hot, so he probably _was _running a fever still, but nothing too major. She let her eyes slip closed and enjoyed the scent of his shampoo, the feel of the arms and legs that were morphing from toddler chubby to little kid sleek. The tiny treads felt good and she smiled a bit despite how badly it made her face hurt.

Jack opened the back door cautiously, slipping inside and easing it shut without making any noise. He followed the soft glow of a light on in the living room to check on his girl. With luck she'd been taking the damn pain meds like she was supposed to and was sleeping off the worst of it. He was off rotation in two days and would make damn sure she took the opportunity to power-down her body and heal. Slinking closer he was pleased to see her feet propped on his ancient ottoman, unmoving. Then curiosity hit hard and fast when he realized that she wasn't alone.

Almost as if she'd scented him Grenna's eyes slowly slid open.

"Hey," she croaked out in a whisper. A fleeting smile slid over her face.

"Hey," he breathed back, cocking his head to the side.

Her smile grew, smug and peaceful at the same time. "We had a quiet day," she told him.

Jax jerked in her arms, almost shocked at having fallen asleep. He shot a glance over his shoulder and relaxed once more upon spying his father. His hand began the restless back and forth motion with the truck again.

Jack came quietly over to her, knelt beside the chair so that he could touch both the woman he'd obsessed over all day and the child he'd adored since before he was born. He felt the warmth of the sleepy child's neck and that of the woman's cheek as well.

"Am I interrupting?" he teased, easing his arms beneath Grenna's knees and shoulders. Without seeming to strain too much he lifted both so that he could slide in, so that his woman was draped across his knees and his youngest could meet him eyeball to eyeball. They'd have to talk someday about encroaching on another guy's territory. But so long as Grenna was still simply landscaping for two-inch Fords Jack supposed the boy could live. Especially since his raven-haired offspring generously shook his head at him before yawning.

"Jax got sick. Your wife called here and I thought it would be you so I answered. She had to work and the day care won't let them in until they're fever-free for twenty-four hours."

Jack nodded and reached for Jax's brow again. "Looks like you've got a pass for tomorrow, too, pal."

Jax nodded. "I'm hungry."

"What do you feel like?" the big man asked. He was hungry, too. And he figured anything the kid could handle sick would be okay on Grenna's throat. "Chicken soup? Fettuccine?"

Jax wrinkled his nose. Grenna shrugged. "We had applesauce for breakfast and peanut butter and frosted flakes this afternoon."

"What do you feel like now?" he asked, absently rubbing his hands over their backs. His heart thudded in his chest as he realized that if his other two were there his life would have been perfect.

"Chocolate-covered raisins. Spaghetti. Steak. Baked potato. Thousand island dressing. Shrimp cocktail. Fried pickles."

Jack had played this game before. She wanted two bites of everything. Hell, it was her throat. And he'd cleaned up puke before. "Do you feel like going out?" There was a family style restaurant with a buffet fifteen miles up the road.

Both heads shook.

"So we're back to 'Do you want me to heat some soup or make pasta?'"

Both heads shook. Jax started his list. "Pork fwied rice. Egg-dwop soup. Sloppy noodles."

Jack nodded, his lips pursed. "You two have given this some thought, haven't you?"

They nodded in tandem. It was cute.

"We waited on you to call. All you have to do is decide what you want," Grenna croaked.

"And plus nobody can understand Grenna until you get used to it," Jax told him, slipping over the arm of the chair to go retrieve the menu for his father.

"Okay. I'll play your game. Even though you ganged up on me. Go call your mother and see if she's fed Rowdy and Sam. I can pick them up or everybody can eat here."

Jax high-fived him as he ran into the kitchen to do as instructed.

"Your child is amazing," Grenna told him, palming his tired face. "I saw the phone. I thought it was a great idea."

He'd made a directory of sorts with the numbers his sons might need using pictures of the people and buildings rather than just the words along with the code for using the quick-call memory on the kitchen phone.

"My ex-wife is unbelievable." He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We honest to Pete didn't do anything. He slept on the couch for a lot of the day. He got sticky trying to take medicine about three and he didn't want to get in the tub so I kind of sponged him off at the kitchen sink. So he's had a bath. Of sorts."

Jack had given this particular child medicine before, so he knew where she was coming from. The kid just seemed to choke on it sometimes, spewing a fine mist of some sticky substance NASA must have had a hand in creating. He was always real apologetic. And Jack figured from the sounds he made as he was choking on it that it must cause some personal discomfort as well. But it wasn't exactly how you wanted the girl you were sparking to meet your family.

"Sorry."

She shrugged, lifting one brow. "It happens. It doesn't clean up real well, but it happens."

"Don't I know it?" he grinned. Since she seemed to be taking everything well he leaned in for a kiss. He moved his lips gently over hers, parting them only enough to share her breath. "How do you feel?" he asked as he drew back.

She stretched carefully. "Better now."

"Mom says you can get bro one and bro two!" Jax announced. He handed the phone to his father. "Can I have some juice?" he whispered to Grenna.

She nodded and slid off Jack's lap to take the little boy's hand. "Of course you may." They were each chugging cold, sweet apple juice when Jack hunted them down in the kitchen.

He lifted Jax onto the counter and leaned down so that they were eyeball to eyeball. "Samuel and Randall have to be liberated from the after school program," he told him seriously. "I will be bringing them back here very shortly. If I catch you poaching it's into the drink with you, do you understand?" he teased.

Jax saluted. He had no idea what his father was talking about. Grenna glanced at the clock. It was nearly six o'clock and the older two boys were still at school? Guilt tugged at her heart. The one nearby was spouting out rhetoric of his own. "I'll keep a weather eye, chief. You can count on me." Jack smacked a long, loud kiss to his forehead, then turned to hers as he tugged his cap back over his hair.

"I won't be too long. Sorry about the unanticipated invasion. We may have them all night. I can take you home after dinner if you like."

She shook her head. "It's okay. _Go._"

So she curled up that night in Jackson's bed and listened to him read to the three children in the next room.

"Fatherhood suits you," she whispered in the dark as he slid into bed.

His strong arms came around her. "You think so?" he asked, pulling her close so that her back and his chest were one profile. Damned if he knew how he was going to get to sleep when she 'got better' and went home.

She nodded and turned in his arms, lying her smooth lips on his heart. "It's very sexy."

"I'm glad you feel that way." He pulled his hand through her soft hair. "Wanna stay? You can watch the performance time and again-every other weekend, school holidays, and when Marjorie decides she doesn't want to be a parent."

"Wanna take 'em and make a run for the border?" she laughed. She'd decided she didn't like Marjorie very much this morning. What kind of woman let some stranger-answering the phone at her husband's house, no less-take care of a child who'd never met her? That Jax had so quickly taken to her was a miracle. All day Grenna'd fretted about what to do if the boy took a turn for the worse. She'd gone so far as to look up a pediatrician in the phone book and had Jack's CO's number handy as well. If nothing else the guy was a parent-he might have suggestions. That was before the guilt had ridden up about the other two. Languishing at school for hours after the bell rang. Sure, it was great if it was the only option, but if she'd known she would have asked Jack if they could come over as well.

"On a regular basis," he admitted. She reached around and soothed the tight muscles at the base of his neck. "Enough that I'd change jobs if she'd let me have them."

"Have you asked her?"

He nodded. "And the court's kicked it out once. My lawyer says that before I try it again I need to establish a more stable home front."

"_Really_?" Anything seemed more stable to her than a mother who was lackadaisical with her offspring.

"Yup. Want to get married and raise a houseful of brats with me?" he joked.

"Yup," she told him. No hesitation, no laugh. His heart swelled, his blood raced, and his hands clenched.

"Okay," he breathed as he snuggled down to hold her until she slept. "I'll hold you to it."

She smiled, completely relaxed, and fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4: Jumping In

Jackson took the call the radio operator patched through.

"Skinner!" It was his CO. "Your girl's on the phone. Says the littlest boy still has a fever and that he's complaining about his throat this morning."

"_Shit_," Jack muttered. "I'm a little out of the way right now, sir. You wanna help me out?"

"Grenna is saying that she hasn't had a pain pill since day before yesterday. She's good to drive him if you want her to take him to the doc. She just wanted to clear it with you first. She asked if you wanted her to call the bitch."

Grenna wouldn't have said that. The Bitch was Ronaldson's pet term for Jackson Skinner's first wife. A fitting term.

"He didn't feel hot this morning, Skipper."

"Well, according to the city's finest, he's hit a hundred and two now. It's the whining she's worried about. She said he's been fine-real easy going-until they got up from their morning nap and now he's miserable."

"And I'm halfway to Calcutta. Yeah. He needs to go. Will you _offer_ to drive her to Dr. George's?"

"You got it, son. Now don't you worry. He's probably just got the crud and it's settled in his chest or his head. Round of antibiotics clears 'em up every time."

"I know it. You just wish you were there."

"That's 'cause you're a good one."

When Skinner got in late that night the Captain was still at his desk.

He picked up his coat, so Jack knew he'd been waiting on him to come in. "They're fine. She said she could handle it, so I asked her to call me when they got back..."

Grenna had woken up with a feeling of terror. Hot. So hot.

It settled into her stomach as pure fear when she realized that it wasn't a nightmare-it was the sweaty little boy beside her.

"My throat hurts." He curled into her neck, his little sweaty arms wrapping around her and clutching tightly.

"Shhh. Hang on, okay?"

She sat up, touching his forehead and neck and the round, red cheeks. He was so pale except for those two spots of bright color.

"It hurts real bad."

"All right. Let's call Daddy."

What she got was a relay from a helicopter via a man Jack trusted and admired and held in great affection.

"Doug, it's Grenna Pereman. I'm taking care of the youngest Skinner boy," she told him when she got him on the line.

"And recuperating yourself. How you feeling?"

"Better than Jax. He's hit one-oh-two. And he's complaining about his throat. And you'd have to know the kid, Commander. He's not one of those."

Ronaldson had hesitated for a few seconds. "I'm guessing he's already on the OTC stuff? Tylenol and something for the cold symptoms?"  
"Yes, sir. I'm about ready to take him to see _my_ doctor. I just think three days of fever is enough on a little body. They said he was okay so long as it stayed low-grade an I understand that. He's getting lots and lots of fluids, but I just don't want to take any chances."

"Hang one."

It was more like two minutes before he came back to the line.

"I got Jack out over the Atlantic. If you'll get the boy ready I'll come drive you over to their doctor."

She shook her head, then objected verbally. "I hate for you to do that. I can drive. It's my left arm and I'm _way_ on the mend."

"You can't drive doped up."

"I haven't had any pain pills since Marjorie dropped off Jackson, Jr. I'm squared away, Skipper. I just need to know where to take him."

He hesitated. "All right, firedog. But you call me if you get to feeling taxed and you damn sure call me when you're done with the doctor. It's Henry Georges, on Avenue One."

"I know it. Big green building, right?"

"You got it, kitten. I'll go ahead and call 'em for you-let 'em know you're coming in. Maybe they can go ahead and get you in the queue."

Two hours in the family practitioner's waiting room left Jax melting all over Grenna. He hadn't even grabbed one of the cars she had stuck in her bag-a big deal for a child who _always_ had wheels to show off. He had given up sitting next to her. Given up laying across the seats so that she could comb his hair on her lap while he watched the cartoon on the corner-mounted television in the children's area. Given up watching TV at all. Instead he was sprawled over her lap, head resting on her good shoulder, crying wordlessly into her soft, sweet-smelling hair.

Grenna just sat and rocked him. She was sorry as hell the kid wasn't more of a complainer. She felt helpless now. She'd crawled in bed next to him and slept for two hours when he'd been living with his misery. Ronaldson had told her that it probably wasn't as bad as it seemed-that temps were always elevated in the afternoons and after naps. Still, that was little comfort as she held the pitiful child.

Her only relief was that when they were finally called back, things moved swiftly.

Dr. Georges was a pleasant man in his late fifties, maybe early sixties.

"Well, dear, what you've got here is classic strep. Nothing a round of antibiotics won't knock out. We'll grow a culture just to be sure, but I'd bet my license on it."

"Is it worse because we waited to come in?" she'd asked fearfully.

He'd been kind.

"What do you think, Jackson? Should we check Mom, too?"

"Mom's at work," Jax had answered. "This is my Grenna. She's really my dad's, but I'm allowed to borrow her when I'm sick, he said."

Grenna smiled.

"Well, there you go." He turned to the woman. "Say 'ahhh' and make sure the receptionist pulls your chart so we can mark it, too, when the culture comes back."

"I'm not sick," she objected. "Mine's smoke inhalation. There was an accident and I got hit with a car door."

Dr. Georges' eyebrows lifted. "That fueling depot disaster? Bad news, that. But open up anyway, Grenna. If you're taking care of Skinner here you're running the risk."

After he'd swabbed both throats he disappeared. A nurse brought Grenna paperwork to fill out for herself and then another returned a few minutes later with their discharge information. Strep for J-Jr. None for Grenna. But they'd see what grew overnight for both.

"Grape or strawberry?"

"Grape," Jax answered brightly. He beamed when he was gifted with a round candy on a cardboard ring.

"Mom?"

"Strawberry." She didn't bother to correct him.

"You can just call if the symptoms spread to the rest of the herd," Georges told the young woman. "No need to bring them all in. We can just phone something in for you."

Grenna's cell rang just as she'd bent to gather the little boy. It was becoming a carefully synchronized ballet, him carefully perched so that he didn't put stress on the arm or neck where she'd been burned and the bruises bloomed. The old man was scrawling on a prescription pad.

"Grenna Pereman," she answered. It was a local number, but one she didn't recognize. She thought that perhaps it was one of the base's direct numbers.

"Ms. Pereman? Mrs. Skinner asked me if I'd give you a call. She thought that you might be available to pick up Randy Skinner."

"Is he sick?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid so. He was listless and kept asking to go get a drink, so the teacher sent him to the nurse. He's a fever and a sore throat. I'm sure it's nothing, but-"

"No, of course," Grenna hurried to agree. "It'll be just a few minutes. Tell him I'm on the way." She grinned painfully when she got off the phone. "How about doubling that for us?" she asked.

"That the school?"

She nodded.

He laughed long and loud. "How many are in the house now?"

"Three little boys. Jack's on his own. I don't have it."

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked.

The school was just a few blocks away. Grenna admired the way the little community was set up, Coast Guard station at one end of town, fishing wharves at the other. It was where she'd spent a third of her life. The little neighborhoods wove in and out of the community lines-good, staid houses with land and fences and carports cheek to cheek with crappy apartments or strip malls and all the amenities to support them. It was a nice town. Busy enough. Big enough. Quiet enough. Friendly without being overbearing.

Now she knew where the pediatrician's was and the elementary school was and, in passing, where Jax went to preschool-he pointed it out as they drove.

"The thought occurs to me that you should be in a carseat, buster," she commented as they waited for a light.

"I'm in a booster," the scratchy little voice objected, his emphasis on the o-o part of the word. The smile that cracked her face hurt like hell.

Once more they went through the contortions required for the exhausted and pitiful Jax to hang onto her right hip and shoulder. It was a unique experience now that the goo from the grape sucker had been added. Grenna let him direct her to the front of the building where she smiled blandly at the woman behind the counter.

"I'm here to pick up Randall Skinner," Grenna explained.

"Gretta Pereman?" she asked. At Grenna's nod the woman shifted a book towards her and walked away. After a lifetime of living with an unusual name she wasn't harboring resentment that the man she'd fallen for's ex-wife hadn't clearly communicated the proper spelling of her given name to the local elementary school officials.

"Dear Lord!" a new voice called as Grenna labored to fill in the appropriate slots. She wondered if she should have brought in her purse with her i.d. The alarm in the stranger's voice brought up Grenna's head. "Do you need us to call someone for you?!"

Grenna lifted her eyebrows and looked behind her. Then she realized that the woman was staring at her. Complete with bruised face, burned neck, left arm brace, and Jackson's t-shirt tucked into her jeans. Yeah, she looked like the poster child for the homeless and/or abused.

"No. I'm good. I'm just picking up the Skinner boys."

Jax turned to look at the woman. "That's the principal," he whispered. "Say 'please' and 'thank you' and 'yes, ma'am' and 'no, ma'am' or she'll get onto you."

"Who did that to you?" the woman asked, reaching toward Grenna. "Surely not Jackson _Skinner_."

Grenna shook her head.

Jax got into the action. "Grenna's a firefighter, Miss Tummalli. She rescued a gas station last week. But even superheroes die sometimes, so my dad had to go to a funeral for her while she was still in the hospital."

"Oh, I'm so sorry-I didn't realize."

"It's okay, Miss Tummalli. It's part of our world. Makes the easy fires all that much sweeter. If I can just get Randy and his things?"

"Oh, certainly. Mrs. Clifton went to walk him down from the nurse station. Mrs. Skinner cleared it already so that you can get him."

Grenna waited patiently for what seemed like forever, the littlest Skinner getting heavier and heavier and heavier. Finally she looked up at the clock. It was ten minutes after one.

"Would it be a problem to go ahead and get Sam? I know he'll miss his last classes, but that way I can get to the pharmacy and get the little ones settled..." Grenna tried for pitiful. She didn't have far to go for an academy performance.

"Of course, Miss Pereman. Whatever we can do. If you'll just sign for him as well, we'll have his teacher round up his things. His class will just be coming in from Phys Ed about now."

It wasn't long. Grenna was damn near bowled over by the arms that suddenly wrapped around her legs. Sam's little round face looked up at her adoringly.

"Are you picking us up after school?"

"I'm busting you out," she confided. "Jack's got strep, Randy's got a fever and a sore throat, so..."

Sam made a face. "I'm gonna get stuck taking medicine, too, aren't I?"

She nodded. "'Fraid so, little man. Plus we have to go _get_ the medicine. And I don't know where they put the sick kids around her, but I think they may have lost your brother."

Sam made a face. "If you have to go the nurse you have to go all the way around the back. There's a separate trailer out there. That's where they'll get him. Can I really go home now?"

She nodded.

"No science?"

"No science. Get your stuff. All your stuff. It might be a couple days."

"Yeah, 'cause Gertrude's been sick forever."

"Don't call your brother Gertrude."

"Yes, ma'am," he called as he hustled off.

Miss Tummalli was watching, a smile on her face. "Randall's on the way now. I do apologize for the delay. His teacher's gathered his things for today and tomorrow. Sam's teacher will give him what assignments she can as well."

Grenna nodded. "We keep them out until they don't have fevers, right?"

The smile turned brittle. "They have to be fever free for twenty-four hours. Will childcare be a problem?"

Grenna shook her head. "Not so long as I'm useless on a truck."

Taking three small children into a drugstore was a new experience for Grenna as well. She was an easy mark and they knew it. Even Jax decided he had the strength to walk up and down the toy aisle and the candy aisle. Grenna loaded up on juice and chicken soup and popsicles while they waited. The boys wanted chocolate and gummy bears and videos and water guns and chia pets. She wisely said no to everything except for the gummy bears and _one_ chia pet and got them out-quick. A phone call to the station let Jack's boss know that all was well...or if not well, definitely mend-able. Then it was off for Jackson's house, nearly a hundred buck's worth of cure in tow.

"Good Lord," he muttered when he walked in later. The living room looked like a matchbox bomb had gone off. The kitchen bore evidence of dispensation of medicine. There were wet towels in the bathroom floor. Then his breath caught in his chest at the sight awaiting him in his bedroom.

The boys, wearing only his t-shirts and their underpants, were laid out next to each other sideways across his bed. Grenna was plopped down along her side of the bed, another of his shirts revealing an inch of the boxers she wore beneath. And a whole lot of long, _long_ leg. All in all, not a bad sight to come home to.

"You need a dog," she murmured when he sank to his knees beside her.

"Why is that?" he whispered back.

"Because there's not enough chaos in your life. Where did you end up?"

"I thought we were gonna start looking for England there for a little while. Couple of idiot sailors on their first world tour capsized a sailboat. I'm sorry you got stuck dealing with this."

"Your wife kills me."

"She's definitely working on it," he said, looking around for a thermometer. Her forehead felt overly warm to him. "How do you feel?"

"Better than the kids. Jax keeps crying. That's the part that breaks my heart." She started coughing and he helped her ease up. Sam-not nearly as sleepy as his brothers-sat up and reached over to rub her back.

"Daddy, Grenna got me out of school today. And she said I didn't have to do homework until later."

"It's later," he reminded the boy. Grenna stuck her tongue out. But she couldn't help but notice the gentle way Jack reached out and touched his oldest boy. It was so clearly evident in his every action that he loved the children. She'd enjoyed watching him father them the past few days. Marjorie was stupid for letting him get away.

"I got to rock Jax in your chair," Sam told Jack. "And after he took medicine we all needed showers, so Grenna let us get in together so we could play. It was a lot of fun."

"Another eruption?" Jack guessed.

"How much spray can one child create from such a tiny sip of medicine?"

"I'm still waiting to find out."

Jackson reached beneath Grenna to shift her so that he could slide in, too. She settled back against his warm, solid chest and let him soothe her frazzled nerves.

"Daddy?" Jax's voice quavered. "Does Grenna have to go home now?" The little boy clawed his way past the tangle of blankets and sheets to reach his father's hand.

"No, baby. We're going to take care of her, too. But we have to be real quiet and let her heal. No running or jumping or screaming." She snorted, then regretted it. That kid wasn't going to be doing any of that. He was _sick._ And she was going to try real damn hard to remember not to express herself with grunts. It just hurt too badly.

"Are you going to leave us again tomorrow?"

"Nope. I'm off. Four whole days. I'll get to take care of _all_ of you."

"Dr. Georges said you and Grenna are gonna get sick, too. He said just to call when you get over being stubborn."

Jackson lifted a brow. Grenna explained. "School called about Randy while we were still there. I think he would have just sent me off with scripts for all of us. Plus some woman at the school thinks I'm battered."

"I'll make it up to you."

"I want banana pudding. The cooked kind."

"You're going to lose your voice if you keep talking."

"It comes and goes."

Jackson enjoyed the feel of his family around him until the sun started setting, sending shadows across the bedroom. "What did you feed them for lunch?" he asked.

Grenna shrugged. "The older two ate at school. I'm assuming Randy ate something-"

"Grenna and I had lollipops at Dr. Georges' office." Jax smiled sweetly, his help obviously needed if his father's Grenna couldn't remember something as simple as what they'd eaten.

She nodded. "We've kind of been busy. I know he's had a couple of drinks, but I think the eggs were the last thing he ate."

"I'll make something for dinner," Jackson yawned.

"Spaghetti O's," Grenna suggested.

"Hamburgers," Sam told him.

"Ice cream," Jack added.

"Fettuccine in cream sauce," Jackson decided for them. "Easy on tummies, easy on throats, easy on Daddy."


End file.
